


The Mortification of Midorima Shintarou

by chuutoku



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Drama, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuutoku/pseuds/chuutoku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>".... The day before Valentine’s Day — in his parents’ kitchen, no less — not even a questionable fashion statement saves Midorima from the mortification of sharing an intimate moment with his closest friend. Midorima swears he hears the click! of a cell phone camera then. Just another series of plays in the unending and ever escalating Takao sibling war...."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mortification of Midorima Shintarou

**Author's Note:**

> Kurobasu Valentine’s Exchange fic written for yami-izumi to the prompt “TakaMido feeds the other a chocolate (can be Takao or Midorima).”
> 
> Some explanatory notes:  
> In Japan, there’s no school on Wednesday! (Hence the opening line….)
> 
> I realize the only things we know about Takao’s sister are that 1) she’s younger than him and 2) she gave Takao a headband. That said, I wanted to offer an alternative to the only (adorable) interpretation of her I’ve seen in fanart, i.e. a darling little girl who loves her older brother to bits. My variation is slightly more… conniving.
> 
> Enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day.

Unfortunately for everybody, Valentine’s Day falls on a Thursday.

Monday evening prior, Midorima — left hand twirling lucky pencil; right hand delicately sifting through pre-calculus worksheets — receives a suspicious text message. He delays flipping his phone open only for the moment it takes him to set aside his studies; and, upon reading the text, slowly inclines his head back, back, back to seek solace from his bedroom ceiling.  
  
“What have I done to deserve this?”  
  
 _You should have bought two lucky items today_ , the ceiling chides.  
  
  
to: Midorima Shintarou  
from: ?????? ??????  
subject: seeking audience with midorima family’s high spec kitchen! reimbursement: delicious chocolate! DON’T DELETE THIS MESSAGE MIDORIMA-NII-SAN PLEASE  
  
in case you haven’t figured it out already (you basukebakas can be complete ballbrains sometimes), this is takao’s little sister! remember me? when we met, i asked you which brand of mascara makes your lower lashes look so long, but instead of telling me like a normal person, you threatened to kill my brother for introducing us.  
  
so consider this your second opportunity to be a normal person! i repeat:  _i need your kitchen_. this is my first year making valentine’s day chocolate and i want to do it right! that involves access to all the requisite materials (i assume your facilities are well-equipped, let me know if otherwise), time (wednesday afternoon, say 2pm), and a space where i know my brother won’t waltz in and tease me for upwards of three hours. can you believe that idiot? it’s like, hello, some of this is for you! excuuuuuuse me for being a decent human being and a darling sibling!!  
  
so can i use your kitchen? please and thank you! i’m a great cook!  
  
xo, tsubame  
  
p.s. if you say no i’ll casually mention your crush on my mom to her face  
p.p.s. nii-chan let slip you dig older chicks okay don’t deny you have a thing for mama takao  
p.p.p.s. i have photo evidence  
p.p.p.p.s. after the last shuutoku game, you were all sweaty and disgusting and looked at her and my brother like you’d just discovered a renaissance masterpiece  
  
  
 _You should have bought twenty lucky items today_ , the ceiling corrects itself.  
  
“Not even that would have been enough. I should have bought the entire Oha-Asa franchise,” Midorima sighs, massaging his aching forehead.   
  
He sees three options:  
1) Let Takao’s brat of a younger sister traipse about the Midorimas’ very underused, very extraordinary kitchen.  
2) Call the girl and demand the impossible: That she have some  _sense_.  
3) Die.  
  
After a few minutes’ serious deliberation, Midorima chooses option two. Tsubame’s cell phone rings a couple times before Midorima hears a  _click!_ and her answering machine. Just as he’s about to try again, she sends him another text message.  
  
  
to: Midorima Shintarou  
from: Takao Tsubame  
subject: NO NO NO  
  
what are you thinking?????? you can’t just call me! if my brother finds out i’m talking to you, we’ll never hear the end of it! and — trust me — if i pick up the phone and answer, he’ll  _know_. do you want to deal with that? i didn’t think so!  
  
wednesday. 2pm. non-negotiable. see you then~  
  
  
 _I mean, she’s still going to use your kitchen if you die,_  the ceiling reasons.

* * *

To Midorima’s luck — a precious commodity these days — the clinic gives his parents full-day shifts that Wednesday. Takao, the remaining obstacle, doesn’t even ask Midorima if he’s free that afternoon.  
  
“You know, I could’ve sworn I left my physics lab on my desk,” Takao said that Tuesday, pedalling them both home. “Right next to my laptop. Sensei wouldn’t give me an extension, either. Looks like you’re on your own tomorrow, Shin-chan.”  
  
 _If only_ , Midorima thought. He brought the can of red bean soup to his lips, muttered offhandedly, “Are you sure your sister didn’t sabotage it?”  
  
“Aren’t you a good judge of character!” Takao laughed. “I can’t see why she would have done something like that this time around, though. It’s not like any of her idols recently came out with a new album, so there’s nothing for her to con me into buying….”  
  
“But  _if_ , for whatever reason, she  _did_ take my lab report,” Takao’s tone turned dangerous, “I’m mailing her ugliest underwear to her favorite pretty boy.”  
  
Personally, Midorima hopes the Takao family never invites “Kazunari’s best friend” to dinner.  
  
Tsubame arrives ten minutes behind schedule, shopping bag slung over one shoulder and expression set into a shit-eating grin. She slips her sneakers off as Midorima ushers her inside, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a taped finger.  
  
“I hope,” he greets her, “that you recognize with what  _insufferable rudeness_ you’ve acted since the miserable moment I met you, how  _insulting_  your behavior has been and continues to be both to myself and your family, and how  _ridiculously stupid_ your being here to — ”  
  
“Nice house,” Tsubame says. “That a little better?”  
  
“What would be  _phenomenal_  would be  _your getting out of my_ — ”  
  
“Great, glad we’re friends. Where’s the kitchen?”  
  
Midorima rubs the hem of his lucky item — a pink polo — as he leads Tsubame to the Midorimas’ kitchen: A huge, wood-and-granite affair recently refurbished by his parents in the hope that it might persuade one of the Midorimas to give the wonderful world of cooking another go. Alas, they called it quits when Mr. Midorima’s repeated attempts to bake a pizza risked becoming a toxic hazard.  
  
“Wow,” Tsubame whistles appreciatively. “Nii-chan wasn’t exaggerating.”  
  
Midorima — arms crossed, shoulders stiff — watches Tsubame as she pulls her bob back with one of Takao’s headbands (— rather, hers?), rolls the sleeves of her oversized sweater up, and starts unpacking: Cocoa powder, powdered milk, a small bottle of vanilla extract, a bigger bottle of Midori melon liqueur —  
  
“Where in the world did you — ?!”  
  
“Two pots, please! And some wooden spoons, if you have them.”  
  
“— You don’t need alcohol to make Valentine’s Day chocolate,” Midorima grumbles weakly as he investigates cabinets.  
  
“I like to overachieve,” Tsubame says. “Ugh, the counter’s dusty. Get me a towel, too.”  
  
He aims for her head, but she catches it mid-arc.  
  
“Why do you need so many things?” Midorima asks as he inspects the molds she’s brought: Little basketballs, little hoops, little hearts, little stars.  
  
“Because I’m going to teach you how to make these! It’s the least I can do after commandeering your kitchen, after all.”  
  
“I do not need to learn how to make Valentine’s Day chocolate.”  
  
“Sure you do,” Tsubame says. “Nii-chan told me you’re a terrible cook. You have to start somewhere.”  
  
“I refuse to start  _anything_.”  
  
“Yeah, my mom’s a total babe,” Tsubame hums, and smiles to herself when Midorima stands obediently in front of the stove.  
  
“For the record, I do not have — feelings for your mother,” Midorima manages as Tsubame hands him a big, yellow block of something, a spoon, and a pot.  
  
“Whatever. That’s vegetable shortening, by the way, not butter. Set the heat to high and stir occasionally to help it melt.”  
  
For the next fifteen minutes, Tsubame cooks. Midorima does what he can. When their vegetable shortening melts completely and cools a bit, they pour their pots’ contents into their respective bowls of cocoa powder mixed with vanilla, sugar, milk (and, in Tsubame’s case, liqueur). They blend it well. They taste test.  
  
“I don’t understand what you did wrong,” Tsubame says, frowning as she dabs her tongue with a napkin. “You followed my instructions, didn’t you?”  
  
“That’s what I don’t like about cooking. Neither following instructions nor making proper preparations guarantees results.”  
  
The doorbell’s  _ting!_ interrupts Midorima’s poignant moment of irony.  
  
“While you check on that,” Tsubame says, “I’ll put my chocolate into the molds.”  
  
The Midorimas’ house is a spacious, two-story building in one of Tokyo’s nicest neighborhoods at a short commute from his parents’ clinic. It is comprised of a series of large, sparsely furnished rooms occasionally dusted and reorganized by his mother when patient paperwork proves frustrating; a small garden that seems more Mr. Midorima’s child than Midorima himself, sometimes; and a spare room on the first floor reserved for his grandmother’s bi-annual visits from the countryside. The kitchen is located next to the living room, across from his grandmother’s bedroom and the staircase to the second floor; the front door and reception area, meanwhile, are located directly in front of the living room, the garden on the opposite side.  
  
Its fortuitous architecture is worth mentioning because it buys Midorima some much-needed time once he swings the front door open to find Takao — his own variation of Tsubame’s shit-eating grin stretched across his face — leaning against the wall.  
  
“You were right!” he exclaims happily. “She  _did_ hide my lab report! I felt so put-off when I finally sat down to do it over that I thought, ‘Hey, maybe Shin-chan was onto something,’ and ransacked her room for it. She stuck it in her underwear drawer. As if I wouldn’t look there!”  
  
“Congratulations,” Midorima says, swallows, and resists the temptation to turn to the ceiling and once again ask,  _Why me?_ Or better,  _Crumble. Collapse. Cover me. I’m ready for that, for anything but this._  
  
“So,” Takao draws out the vowel. “Cooped up at home, just like I thought. Wanna do something?”  
  
“I’m busy, Takao,” Midorima informs him — and his sister;  _please, if you’ll only listen to me once, let it be now_ — loudly.  
  
“Want some company?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Aw, come on, don’t be like that.” Takao smiles, places one hand on Midorima’s shoulder as he removes his shoes. “Something smells good. Are you cooking?”  
  
“ _No._ ”  
  
“I can’t believe you’re cooking. It’s not — you’re kidding, right?”  
  
“Stay away from the kitchen, Takao.”  
  
“Gotta see it to believe it!”  
  
“ _I’ll be outside in just a minute so stop laughing and don’t go into the kit —_ ”  
  
Takao goes into the kitchen.  
  
When Midorima finally musters the strength to follow Takao, the sight that greets him is at once a relief and the keenest humiliation: Takao, slumped and still snickering against one of the granite counters; Tsubame’s chocolate, cooling in half of each mold; and the little brat in question, mysteriously absent. Looks like she took the hint — leaving Midorima to fend for himself.  
  
 _Where is she hiding?_  
  
“ _Valentine’s Day chocolate_ ,” Takao manages. “I just — man, I know your dere side’s formidable, but this is  _too_ girly — ”  
  
“It’s for my family,” Midorima says automatically.  
  
“Incredible. Better not to nearly poison anyone else, right?”  
  
“I thought they would enjoy the chocolates more if I put alcohol in them,” Midorima continues.  
  
“Yeah, probably.” Takao takes a few steps towards the molds, smiles through pursed lips when he notices the basketballs and hoops. “Were you — sorry, wow, deep breaths — planning to give some — pfft, I can’t handle this — to our team anyway?”  
  
“ _Absolutely not_ ,” Midorima says as Takao bursts into laughter.  
  
“Well, in that case, don’t mind if I do!”  
  
Midorima watches, shocked still, as Takao dips a finger into one of the bowls of chocolate, finally springing into action when he realizes it’s  _his_ bowl that Takao thought to taste. Midorima’s taped hand grips Takao’s wrist just before his fingers come within range of his mouth.  
  
Midorima closes his eyes. He inhales.  
  
“I really don’t recommend that.”  
  
Takao raises his eyebrows and smirks. “You’re honestly telling me you’re going to give your parents shitty Valentine’s Day chocolate? I’m sure it’s delicious, Shin-chan.”  
  
The tips of Midorima’s ears turn pink.  
  
“ _I’m not going to give my parents ‘shitty Valentine’s Day chocolate,’ Takao, just get out of the kitchen and wait outsi —_ ”  
  
Had Midorima kept his eyes open for this debacle, he might’ve seen Takao’s pupils contract as he spoke: A clear indication that Takao’s hawk eye had just informed him of their true situation and his sister’s hiding place.  
  
Takao’s smirk settles into something sly.  
  
 _Only the sweetest revenge for the sneakiest of sisters_ , Takao thinks as he brings Midorima closer to him, free hand against Midorima’s lower back.  
  
Midorima’s eyes swing open.  
  
“Oi,” he stutters, craning his neck to look behind himself. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?! Get off — !”  
  
Midorima makes the mistake of releasing Takao’s wrist to push against Takao’s shoulders, the pink spreading to his cheeks.  
  
“Look here for a second,” Takao says, taking Midorima’s chin between clean fingers. In a low voice, he adds, “Wow, your expression’s perfect. Just let me do this, okay? Forget rochambeau, I promise I’ll drive you home for the rest of the year, just — ”  
  
“For the love of Oha-Asa, stop looking at me like that!”  
  
“— Forgive me, Shin-chan.”  
  
The day before Valentine’s Day — in his parents’ kitchen, no less — not even a questionable fashion statement saves Midorima from the mortification of sharing an intimate moment with his closest friend. He cringes and recoils —  _how is it even possible for chocolate to taste like men’s deoderant?_  — as Takao pokes his chocolate-covered finger in Midorima’s mouth. Midorima swears he hears the  _click!_ of a cell phone camera then. Just another series of plays in the unending and ever escalating Takao sibling war.  
  
 _To be fair, you did rank twelfth today_ , the ceiling reminds him.

* * *

Takao delivers the denouement via text later that evening, as Midorima lies in bed kneading his eyebrows with his free, untaped hand. He hasn’t budged from his bedroom since the forcible removal of Takao Tsubame and Kazunari from his house some hours earlier. Midorima grimaces, kneads harder. Perhaps, if he applies enough pressure, he’ll push the sorry memory out of his skull alongside his humiliation.  
  
  
to: Shin-chan  
from: Takao Kazunari  
subject: today  
  
first of all — because i know this is probably what’s bothering you most besides the fact that today even  _happened_ — i’m not mad. quite the contrary. i think it was pretty reasonable of you (!!) to kick me and tsubame out of your house after that scene in your kitchen. you’ll have to forgive my sister for her inability to comprehend basic human rights and the concept of dignity, but — that’s just the way she shows her interest. yeah, in case you hadn’t figured it out already (a reliable source let slip you suck at this stuff), she has a crush on you the size of your middle school’s trophy cabinet. let that sink in for a second.  
  
i wasn’t going to tell you, but i think i owe you an explanation for the chocolate incident earlier. as payback for stashing my lab report in her underwear drawer (which she’d done to make sure we wouldn’t hang out today), i tried to make her jealous by pretending we, uh, kind of had a thing. the fact that i really wasn’t thinking straight at all then aside — i hadn’t thought it’d piss you off so much. i’m sorry, shin-chan. i meant what i said, though, about pedalling the rickshaw every day for the rest of the year, so… don’t skip school tomorrow. tsubame says she has a surprise for you. it’s delicious, too~ i checked.  
  
  
The smidgen better Midorima feels lasts the two seconds before his cell phone buzzes again.  
  
  
to: Midorima Shintarou  
from: Takao Tsubame  
subject: today  
  
so it’s  _my brother_ you like!!!!!! i mean, i guess that makes sense? you guys  _must_  have some kind of ~special connection~ if all of like three people can stand to talk to you for more than a couple minutes but everybody calls nii-chan “the shadow to your light” or whatever. before you pee your pants: i have no idea how he feels about you, not really. he’s been obsessed with you since you destroyed his basketball team in middle school, though, and that’s kind of gay, right?? i’ll run some recon for you if you get me a nice white day present~ (what a sweet deal, since — by protocol — you have to get me something for white day anyway!)  
  
thanks for letting me use your kitchen, by the way. i had a great time!  
  
p.s. i printed a copy of that picture i know you know i took of you blushing with my brother in the kitchen  
p.p.s. tack it to the wall above your desk so you can daydream about totally inappropriate things (ew!!!!!!) when geoffrey chaucer or whoever you read for english gets boring, which is effectively all the time  
p.p.p.s. if you don’t take me out on a date on white day i’ll casually mention your crush on my brother to his face — wow, talk about déjà vu huh  
p.p.p.p.s. it’s your funeral  
  
  
 _Isn’t it_ , Midorima thinks.


End file.
